


Calming Influence

by AZGirl



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gibbs provides a calming influence to his injured agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calming Influence

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth NCIS story I ever wrote, and as much I wanted to update this fic and perhaps make it better, I made the decision to keep it exactly as first posted in 2010. 
> 
> I am not a medical professional, so please excuse any errors or liberties in procedure.

**ooooooo**

All I wanted was to see my agent – the man who had saved my life. I just wanted to see for myself that he was still alive, still breathing, still with us. But, all the doctors wanted to do was keep me from him for reasons only a doctor could understand.

Ducky finally convinced them that if I could be allowed just a few minutes with him, then everyone would be happy. I would get to see my agent and know for certain he was still alive, and they could keep doing their job by keeping him that way.

As the nurse led me back towards Recovery, she told me that I would only be allowed three minutes with my agent since they were having problems stabilizing his vitals after the surgery to remove the bullet. At the door to his room, I couldn’t help but pause for a moment upon seeing how pale he was. But, knowing I was finally getting what I wanted, I wasted no more time getting to my injured agent’s bedside.

As the nurse finished noting his current vitals, she said, “Just a reminder. Three minutes and no more. Your agent’s vitals are still erratic and we’ve been attempting to stabilize them for awhile now. I’m surprised Dr. Wilcoe is even allowing this visit, but I take it that Dr. Mallard was very persuasive.”

A small smile couldn’t be helped at the thought of Ducky explaining, with the aide of some elaborate anecdote, just how much less of a disruption to the hospital I’d be once I saw my injured agent.

The nurse – I never did catch her name – was at the door. “Three minutes,” she reminded me once again as she left.

I know it’s irrational, this need to see my agent so badly, but I just can’t help it. It’s his first major injury while under my command, and he got it while risking his life to save mine. It was only through sheer bad luck that he almost died because of the bullets meant for me. His vest had easily stopped the first, but the combination of the next bullet’s trajectory and the angle of his fall as he pushed me out of the way, allowed the second bullet to enter my agent’s shoulder and lodge in his scapula.

Knowing my time was short, I quickly take in my agent’s too pale appearance. It was so unnatural for him to be so silent and so still – in a way, it was almost unnerving. His right shoulder was heavily bandaged; his arm was bound to his body to prevent further injury through accidental movement, and his lower arm resting over his stomach.

It was then that I finally noticed his right hand. It was clenched almost into a fist and I couldn’t tell if it was like that because of how the doctors had placed his hand, if it was related to his injuries, or if it had been some random, involuntary movement on his part. I knew that long hospital stays atrophied the muscles and tendons in the hand so that they became almost claw-like in appearance, but I also knew it was way, way too soon for his hands to be even remotely like that. A quick glance at his left hand showed me a hand full of tubes and wires but no claw-like fingers.

For some reason, the sight of his hand like that bothered me more than I could ever adequately describe. I just couldn’t take his hand being like that any longer and without really thinking about what I was doing or why, I carefully grasped his right wrist and lifted his hand up just off his stomach.

With my other hand, I unfolded his fingers so that they were straighter and looking more relaxed before laying his hand back down. Then, on impulse, I laid my right hand on his and patted it a couple of times. I gave his hand a light squeeze and said, “You did good.”

Fleetingly I hoped I wasn’t hurting him through my actions. Though, come to think of it, he probably had enough pain killers and other drugs in his system to drop an elephant so he likely never felt a thing.

I briefly rubbed my thumb back and forth on the back of his hand a couple of times and then removed my hand from his when I realized what I was doing. There was no reason to get so sentimental even though he’d just recently saved my life.

I knew my time was drawing to a close and expected the nurse any moment to remove me from the room. So, with what little time was left, I just stood there feeling guilty and gazing at my injured agent while contemplating how I was ever going to thank him for saving my life at nearly the cost of his own.

What I did not expect just seconds later was the nurse coming in and asking, “What did you do?”

Not knowing why it seemed like I was being reprimanded, I responded in my usual gruff tone, “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything!”

She grasps my arm and starts to lead me out of the room saying, “Please wait outside for a moment.”

From my vantage point at the doorway, I can see the nurse is bustling around checking the connections and my agent’s vitals. Not knowing what is going on is making me lose my temper which was something I didn’t want to do in the presence of my injured agent who might misinterpret it and think I was angry at him.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the nurse looks over to me and waves me back in. As I reached the end of my agent’s bed, I put my hand on his leg and bring my temper under enough control to ask in a mostly calm voice, “What’s wrong? Is he OK?”

The nurse ignores my question and goes back to checking my injured agent’s vitals. Finally she looks at me and notes my hand. She has this look on her face that’s difficult to interpret. Confusion? Disbelief? Curiosity?

She nods to herself and seems to have come to some decision.

Before I can ask, she says, “While you were in here before, your agent’s vitals suddenly stabilized, which is a good thing. But, when I made you leave just then, they started to get a little erratic again. Now that you’re back though, he’s fine again,” she finished with disbelief in her voice.

“I think it’s you,” she continued with a slight smile on her face. “Your presence and your touch combining to calm your agent and stabilize him.”

I can’t believe what she’s saying. Me? The boss with the gruff voice, the impossible demands, and multiple, daily head slaps actually a calming influence on my newest agent? That’s insane! There has to be some mistake.

The nurse sees the disbelief on my face and interrupts my thoughts by holding her hand up, saying, “I know. You think it’s insane, but it’s true. Some patients just recover better with a familiar presence nearby and for him, apparently that presence is you.”

I’m stunned and humbled. I previously had no idea of the influence I had over my agent’s life or the amount of trust he must have in me to react this way to my presence.

My mind is reeling with the implications and possibilities.

I gently pat his leg a couple of times. I’ve made my decision.

“Can I stay with him?” I cautiously ask.

“I’ll have to clear it with Dr. Wilcoe, but under the circumstances I believe that it’s what’s best for the patient at this time,” she replied with a relieved smile on her face.

ooooooo

Hours later, I’m sitting in my agent’s room getting ready to settle in for the night. Ducky visited briefly an hour ago to bring me some supplies including dinner and a large cup of my regular brand of coffee.

He was greatly amused at the thought of me being a calming influence over anyone let alone the injured agent in the bed beside me, but gave his wholehearted approval at the idea. Before Ducky left, he made sure to remind me to take care of myself as well as our young agent.

My young, injured, and heck, it has to be said – brave agent had finally, but briefly awakened not too long ago. And, just before succumbing to healing sleep once again, he mumbled a barely understandable, “Thanks, Boss.”

I hoped we’d never be in this situation again, but if it did ever happen again, I knew I would do anything to get to Tony’s side as soon as possible and stay there for as long as he needed me.

**ooooooo**

_the end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at fanfiction.net on January 18, 2010. No beta for this one.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
